Haley’s Giggle

Haley has been in more waiting rooms and hospital gowns than most people in a lifetime. So it’s not surprising that she adapts so well to her surroundings and makes fun of any situation. The hospital gown becomes Cinderella’s gown for the ball, and once I put it on her, i spin her in the doctor’s chair, and poof, we are at the ball. While she’s dancing in the hallways, the “king” — aka Allergy doctor No. 2– presses Cinderella’s handmaiden (me) for an hour about every possible and potential allergen in her life: the foods she eats or doesn’t eat, the clothes she wears, the materials of her mattress, sheets, blankets, what trees we see out her bedroom window, etc.  I pair the answers with a twirl of my hand, and Haley thinks i’m telling a wonderful story. Suddenly, she breaks out into a Kelly Clarkson song (“here i am” is her favorite).  She dances the hokey pokey (sort of), and the “king” and i clap while talking about Anna and what she’s exposed to. The last hour is skin testing, where Cinderella sits on my lap, facing me, while her back is covered in test foods (mostly the ones we already tested for with the blood tests, but the skin test is more accurate). We wait for 30 minutes until everything is confirmed– her milk/beef/soy allergy, and make sure she’s not allergic to any environmental allergens as well.  After four hours, and way past her naptime, the clock strikes and we have to put on our regular shoes and put on our regular clothes because the dance is over and we had such a good time.

The next day is a speech therapist exam that is supposed to take 20 minutes, ending 2 and half hours later.  The speech therapist brings all of her props, though most of them are food related. “Can you point to the boy eating the ice cream cone?” the speech therapist prompts Haley. This is a year 2 question, and if Haley were a normal kid, exposed to such things as ice cream cones, she’d nail it. but instead, she tells the ST that she loves jumping. The assessment places her advanced for speaking, but behind in auditory queues. I did explain that the test might not present Haley with the best options for her. For example, if the picture showed a boy playing with a stethoscope, she’d nail that question. Also, it’s rare I actually tell Haley to point to something, so that word is probably not even in her vocabulary. But I understand the limitations of standardized testing, and agree to expose her to ice cream cones, sandboxes, and of course be sure to ask her to point something out to me. After the assessment, Haley invited ST to a tea party, and sang her the only part of the TI/Rihanna song she knows (oh!”). 

Her eating has not improved, and the pump broke a few days ago, so feeding is still quite an issue, and will be for a long time. I thought if there was any holiday to kick-start her appetite, Thanksgiving would be it. But alas, she wouldn’t even try.  And to force a kid to eat is the surest way to turn them off. 

She was working on her climbing up and down the stairs at grammy and gramps’s house, managed to tumble all the way down (on my watch, i must admit), and wind up with a small scratch on her nose and a bit of the shakes easily calmed down by her crazy aunties.

Through it all, Haley always has a smile on her face and giggle in her talk. She doesn’t know how this will all end, and neither do her doctors. But laughter smiles, and a lot of swinging keep this girl, and the rest of us, smiling with her.

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone, and here’s to always making the best out of the worst situtations.